


Victor

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M, during the sign of three, holmescest, just a silly drabble, mentions of Victor Trevor - Freeform, the conversation in the cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wasn't going to let the opportunity pass though. How many times would he have Sherlock drunk and unable to control that mouth of his. It was time to get as much information as possible and pray to god he remembered it when he sobered up. </p><p>“Go on. We've got all night locked in here. Tell me something at least.” John slurred and sank a bit further down the wall of their holding cell, “Was there ever anyone...special?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victor

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood to write something non-smutty. Don't worry, I won't do something silly like that again anytime soon.

It wasn't exactly the stag night he'd pictured but then what was one to expect with Sherlock Holmes as the best man. The idea behind it all wasn't too bad; a drink in each place they'd found a body, it was a nice reminder of the fun they'd had before the faked death, but ending up in a police cell, still drunk and unable to get out until morning, well, it wasn't the stuff of legend, was it?

 

John wasn't going to let the opportunity pass though. How many times would he have Sherlock drunk and unable to control that mouth of his. It was time to get as much information as possible and pray to god he remembered it when he sobered up.

 

“Go on. We've got all night locked in here. Tell me _something_ at least.” John slurred and sank a bit further down the wall of their holding cell, “Was there ever anyone... _special_?”

 

Sherlock sighed sleepily and mumbled, “Victor”

 

“Victor, who's Victor?”

 

Sherlock snapped his eyes open, “No. Shh. No.”

 

“Come on, tell me, who's...” John had to think through his drunken haze, “Victor?”

 

“None of your business.”

 

“Consider it a wedding present. Tell me.” The reluctance was clear on Sherlock's face when John gazed up to him. “It's that or I spend all night telling you about Mary.”

 

“That isn't a threat John, I know all about her.”

 

“Not through my eyes.” he smiled lopsidedly, “She has the cutest little dimple that you can only see when she really finds something funny. She gets these two little lines at her eyes and then the dimple comes out. When she -”

 

“Don't subject me to such torture.” Sherlock groaned.

 

“Then tell me about Victor.”

 

“I really don't see why it's so important.” The drunk detective steepled his fingers under his chin as he lay on the hard bench, “My most significant relationship was with a man named Victor Trevor. What more is there to know?”

 

John huffed in frustration. “Um, how did you meet? What was he like? How long were you together? The normal stuff, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to Victor, hoping the darkness of the holding cell would mask the smile creeping onto his lips. “He was handsome, intelligent...he had a certain charm that drew people to him yet he maintained a distance from most. We debated many things, discussions would last until exhaustion or something else broke them.” He could feel the blush reddening his cheeks as he remembered how most of the stimulating conversations ended. It was with Victor that Sherlock learnt that it didn't matter about winning such things in the end. Growing up with Mycroft had left him competitive and always wanting to prove himself to be equal in knowledge but with Victor the passion rose, took over and when lying post orgasmic in each other's arms, Sherlock found he no longer cared if he had 'won' or not.

 

“He was rather brilliant.” Sherlock continued, “Back when he was free of obligation, when life mattered more than career. We only had several months together before we moved on.”

 

Victor was in his final year at the university, having already earned his degree he had chosen to continue and gain his Masters. Sherlock had only been in his first year, a mockery to most in his courses and failing to see the point in being there until Victor came into his life. It was complete animosity at first, both men loathing the other and bickering about everything from science to politics and even who the Economics professor was cheating on his wife with. One night the exchange became heated to the point they found themselves locked in a kiss. The relationship grew but both men knew it wouldn't last, it wasn't plausible when life took over from university.

 

 

Being with Victor had taught Sherlock so much about himself. He never believed he'd fall in love, never considered a sexual relationship and had only lost his virginity as an experiment when he was sixteen. Victor showed him how to stop his selfish ways – temporarily though it may have been. He taught Sherlock that life was about much more than rebelling against his parents and experimenting for curiosity sake, he showed the younger man that his brain was not something to be wasted, that he should find something he enjoyed, that he loved, and use his intellect for that purpose. Victor helped Sherlock grow up and Sherlock helped him realise there was more to life than a future career and money. Sherlock brought joy to Victor's life, the fun and spontaneity that he lacked, Sherlock gave him and Victor was the better man for having him in his life.

 

“Have you seen him since?” John asked sleepily.

 

“Many times.” Sherlock held back the sigh, “But neither of us are the men we were then. He became the man he wanted to be. It's all very boring.”

 

There would always be that locked room in his mind palace devoted to Victor and their time together. Sherlock never wanted to forget it, it had meant too much to him at the time. John would never know the extent to which he loved Victor or how much that brilliant man had made him feel loved in return. It was all just a distant memory, at times he even wondered if it had occurred or if it was imagination fuelled by the experimentation with drugs in his university years (once Victor had left, of course. He would have never have allowed Sherlock to throw away his mental capacity on such stupidity as drugs). His conclusion had always been that it was real, it was just a different life for them both.

 

“I knew it,” John yawned, “All that talk of being a sociopath but you're just as human as the rest of us.”

 

“High functioning, John. High functioning.”

 

John thought about arguing his point but knew doing so with Sherlock was pointless enough, doing so while drunk would be a waste of breath. “Whatever you say, Sherlock.”

 

The two men chatted until both passed out in the darkness of their holding cell. The moment Greg Lestrade burst into the room in the cold light of day, the hangovers kicked in with full force. Each noise sounded as though it were amplified directly into their ears, the pain seared through their heads and the light irritated their eyes. The previous night was blurred yet both concurred it was an awful night out and not to be repeated.

 

“Jesus John, you're as white as a ghost. If you're going to throw up the toilet's over there.” Greg pointed in the direction of the gents.

 

John slowly made his way towards them,“I'm fine, I just need to throw some water on my face.”

 

Lestrade lead Sherlock to sign the necessary forms for their release, no charges where going to be brought for their drunken antics. “I'll be taking that back.” Greg snapped his warrant card from Sherlock's hand as he collected his personal affects from the police officer at the desk. “And is that your brother's?” he asked as he spotted a picture I.D card. The picture of Mycroft on the left side of the card was a disappointment to the detective inspector. He had expected a typical I.D photo, something embarrassing that he could laugh at, but the picture was the image of Mycroft's perfect, composed demeanour. “Mycroft Victor Trevor Holmes? Really?” Greg chuckled.

 

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes in response and groaned at the pain the movement caused in his hungover body. He took the card from Lestrade and placed it back in his wallet, hiding it before John's return.

 

“I really need a cup of tea. Can we go now?” John practically pleaded.

 

“Yea, Lightweights,” Greg smiled, “you're free to go.”

John could know about Victor, if he remembered any of the conversation, but he could never know the truth. Mycroft was so completely different when they were together that Sherlock couldn't think of the man he knew today as the one he had a relationship with. Long ago he had taken to calling the alter-ego “Victor” and he knew Mycroft referred to his first love as “William”. They never mentioned it any more, they never even acknowledged what had happened all those years ago but Sherlock would always remember Victor and their time together, he would always remember the love and he would always know that Mycroft loved him too.

 


End file.
